“I—I’m going to lie down in the bottom of the boat,” announced Mr. Clark, wanly. “And if I smokes a pipe that might do me good, by composing of my nerves.”
He kindled his pipe, and forthwith settled himself very comfortably in the bottom of the boat. For headrest, he had a pillow he fortunately happened to have brought with him. By a similar kindness of chance, he had also provided himself with a thick overcoat, and with this he now snugly covered himself.
Ensued a bleak period of human silence, accentuated by the lapping of the water round the boat, and the phantom-like scream of wheeling sea-birds. The passenger, sitting humped-up in an attitude of complete dejection, surveyed the prone Mr. Clark and subconsciously became aware of the gentle, rhythmic fall and rise of the anchored craft.
“Really, it’s most unfortunate!” he whined, at last. “Most unfor—”
He stopped abruptly; his expression was a blend of alarm and self-suspicion.
“Dear me!” he muttered. “Oh! I do hope—”
Mr. Clark, stirring, opened one eye sufficiently to see that the complexion of his companion had passed to a strange olive-green shade, and that he was holding his palm to his forehead. Mr. Clark closed his eye again with a warm glow of satisfaction.
Twenty minutes later, Mr. Clark again glanced at his companion. That gentleman’s complexion was now some shades lighter, though still green of hue, and he was sitting with his arms hanging limply by his side. His expression suggested that he had no further interest in life.
“’Ow are you gettin’ on?” asked Mr. Clark.
The other man, turning a pair of glassy eyes on him, shook his head dolefully and groaned. Mr. Clark, settling down again in comfort, was callous enough to smile.